Risk
by I hate the computer
Summary: There is always a risk involved. There is always a chance that you'll get hurt. But how much happiness is that worth?
1. Chapter 1

Retching, banging and, a toilet struggling to flush it's contents, my father is back from his bender after getting paid. I wonder if he has enough to cover electricity bill, at least the cable bill, maybe. The rent never seems to come due as much as I haven't paid it in four months and our landlord would come banging if it was a day late. The lovely guttural sounds of liquid coming out of the wrong orifice start up again. This time accompanied with a chorus of moaning in pain and panting. Damn it. I have a test in Calculus tomorrow and that I was hoping to take it on a full four hours and decent breakfast. And I really needed a good grade on it.

I try to rub the ever-present fatigue out of my eyes and get out of bed to go make sure that my father doesn't ruin any more walls, destroy the sparse offering that I call food or hurt himself. He would think that making a massive white Russian out of our milk is a good idea. Every two weeks…only four more months until I turn 18 and, can legally get my own apartment, have full control over my finances. Only 8 more episodes then I never have to deal with my father again…with a comfortable secret saving account and a small reputation locally, getting an apartment shouldn't be too much trouble.

I have to steady myself on the cigarette burned dresser. My head doesn't feel right, a little dizzy. I turn on the flickering florescent overhead light and catch a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror attached to the bowed door. My overly thick dull blond hair sticks in all directions falling a little past my ears, boring brown eyes with large bags under them that always seems a little big for my face, no muscle tone to speak of or much of anything but bone, a pair of old pyjama pants falling off my hip, and finally a few burn marks and small cuts still healing from two weeks ago. Only 8 fucking more then I'm free from my father. I venture down the hole-covered walls, and stained carpet. All are reminders of previous late night altercations.

My father hugs the yellowing toilet for dear life while greenish-brown vomit hangs from his chin. Sweat beads on his forehead and his lank dirty blond hangs over the edge of toilet. The normally imposing man reduced to a puking mess. Every two fucking weeks…could he at least change it up a little? Keep me on my toes; add a bit of spice to my life maybe? I sigh and grab one of the formally white towels, now a plethora of colours but mostly grey out of the cupboard that is half off of it's hinges. But I can't help myself but glance at the small floating numbers above of his head, 3500/0 in glowing green like he's some "sim". Why am I up at 3 in morning about to take care of him when all he's ever done is berate me, hit me, use what little resources I have? Why do I care so much about him? He's my father, so fucking what? I mean nothing to him.

"Come on, let's go to bed before you sleep in the bathroom again." I say wetting the towel in the cracked sink and squatting on the broken tile floor to whip the puke off my father chin. My only luck this morning seems to be that my father drank more than normal and he's almost comatose. I shouldn't go to school with any more injuries tomorrow. He just moans in reply.

I grab his shoulder and attempt to reposition him against the wall. Instead he shrugged off my hand, and using the toilet to attempt to stand. Some of the vomit drips onto his already stained work shirt, leather jacket outline his muscles from working construction. I know where this is going…what will be worse? If I take it or if I actually run? By a very small margin, if I run, but only if he doesn't get through my door. I drop the towel and a take a step towards my bedroom.

"You pity me. I'm just an alcoholic to you." He screams, slurring every word at me, spit flying everywhere. I take a few more steps back hoping he's too drunk to notice or too drunk react quite yet. So far, not so bad, last time was worse. But it's only the beginning.

"You're no better. You're head is in a card game all the time, if you tried you might get to see Serenity more than once a month or maybe your mother won't have left. You'll never be the best." He slurs in my direction. His face is completely red. I knew that was coming. His words don't even sting anymore. It's not my fault that Serenity lives four hours away with our mother, it's not my fault that I can't be the older brother I want to be. It is my fault that even after I turn 18 I can't afford to take care of her; I can't afford to give her a comfortable place to live…that is my fault. I'm not my best friend; I'm not the king of games.

I take another step back out of the bathroom. He grits his teeth and his hand clenches, and a shiver goes down my spine. He's pissed. My heart beats rapidly in my chest and I just let myself react. Back down the hall, over the uneven floor and shag carpet, through my open door frame I sprint. He's right behind me, his boots hitting the floor with thud and a growl, like a wild animal, coming from deep in his throat. Every two weeks, but the adrenaline still pumps through my veins like a cruel joke. He still frightens me, he can still fucking hurt me…that 3500 laughing in my ears as I slam my bedroom door. Then slide my dresser in front of my door right as I hear the first loud bang of the night. He's not going to get through that, he hasn't gotten through it yet. He roars on the other side of the door and bangs at the water damaged wooden door. I take a few breaths before my breathing is back to normal and my heart decelerates by the millisecond. Like always, I'm shaking and completely awake for the on-slot of insults that are being shouted through my door. Stupid, worthless, a dreamer, useless, my friends just put up with me, fag, cocksucker, motherfucker, pussy, lazy, incompetent…I've heard them all. I slide down on my single bed to wait until he gets tired, passes out and or until I get a nap before school. Luckily there were no more injuries but I won't risk breakfast tomorrow morning, Yugi will have a guest then. Every time this happens…3500 attack points, as I've grown to call them, to hurt me. Or at least that is what I think the numbers that float above anyone's head mean…just a reminder of how much of an idiot I really am.

* * *

Please tell me if Joey's power makes no fucking sense.

The numbers indicate risk with becoming involved with Joey, the first number is the risk for Joey and the next is the risk for the other person. Also I have no idea if supernatural is the right category for this.


	2. Chapter 2

I wake with a start, dripping in sweat but it's fall and 60 in my room, at most. It was probably another weird ass dream I get sometimes. The alarm clock with a broken face says 5:00 in the morning in big red numbers. There is no point even trying to sleep again. So I pull my fatigued body out of the lumpy bed onto the messy floor, covered in clothing that I got free at work and look around my room for a second. My 128GB Kphone, Yugi's old phone, and my 1TB, 32GB RAM Kbook Pro, Yami's old laptop, sits charged on the dresser stand out among the squalor of my postage stamp sized room.

I quietly get dressed, pack up everything of value in my backpack and clip my deck into my belt still woozy from lack of sleep. Then I check my phone for texts and email. Bug report, another bug report, meeting times, amazon ads and an abnormal amount of texts from, my little sister, Serenity. Most of them are the pretty standard, got home safe and I got a 95% on my math test. But as I scroll down, there are a few more about our mother. They fought again last night I see and it seems that it was worse than normal. I text her back with a sympathetic frowny face and a good morning. Finally climb out of the window and down the fire escape to run to Yugi's house.

I walk right into the kitchen with my spare key at around 6:00. A nice large kitchen with granite counter tops, an electric stove with a small amounts of rust, and stainless steel fridge. The floor is a little uneven and scratched. I put coffee on, start to cut up peppers, onions, avocado, and grate the cheese for some scrambled eggs with bacon and place some sliced apple on a plate. It's the least I can do. Yugi knows that I don't get along with my father and sometimes I just need to leave early for school. His house has an open invitation for me, and his Grandpa is a better father than mine ever was.

I pop a few slices of bread in the toaster before making my way up to the upper level, after going through the library they call a living room. On the left of the landing is Yugi's room with a massive Duel Monsters poster on the door and on the right is Grandpa's room. I knock on both and hear two voices coming Yugi's room, his and one that sounds a lot like Yami's. Finally they told! On a Thursday night too, a bit risky don't you think? They make the perfect couple. But that doesn't mean that they get out the teasing.

"I'm up Grandpa, give me a minute." Yugi answers, then very faintly "Yami…". I can only guess what they want to do for a minute…get dressed and get ready for school obviously. The springs of the bed creak a little.

"Breakfast is in five, get ready. You have someone help you." I say to the door. A small yelp and a deeper laugh, they'll be attached at the hip for a couple of months.

About five minutes later, Yami, Yugi and Grandpa saunter down stairs to breakfast, rubbing their eyes and looking at the coffee like it's some god. 2500/2100 floats over Yugi's head, by far my best friend and top ranked duellist in the world. Short, adorable, with naturally tricoloured hair; black, blond and a red-black that looks purple in the right light that sticks out in all directions. On top of the standard school uniform lays a heavy leather belt holding his duel deck and spare for impromptu duels during breaks. 2300/2100 floats over Yami's head. Tall, dark, rich, and handsome pretty-much sums him up, with wild tri-colour hair like Yugi but blond bangs and almost blood coloured eyes. He's pretty squarely at number two in the world. Grandpa has a 2300/2100 over his head.

"So when were you going to tell me? Or just going let Facebook or maybe your twitter would be the conveyer of bad news for both your Fan Clubs." I tease a very red face Yugi being caught with Yami in his bed. Yugi places his coffee with way too much milk and sugar for it to be called coffee anymore on the table before answering.

"I was going tell you during homeroom, I promise." He says. Yami and Grandpa sleepily get themselves food and coffee.

"Surrrre Yugi, but congratulation. I can stop harbouring secrets from both of you because both of you are too scared to even tell the other. And can now live vicariously through you." I say with a sigh as at the end. I can harbour other secrets from you instead.

"The fact that you've never even seemed to be interested in anyone might affect your dating prospects. But you might hide it really well. Also thanks for breakfast. " Yami says right before placing a place of food in front of Yugi and kissing him on the cheek.

"Or I might not be interested in anyone. Plus I'm too busy; I'm not about to ask anyone to deal with my work schedule. It would a constant struggle to actually spend time together." I say as I take a bite and imagine what a relationship would be like. I work almost 35 hours a week, on top of school, on top of outside of work-work, on top of homework, the fact that I would lie to them about almost everything in my home life, hm, sounds like a good deal.

"More, I'm just curious what's your type. I've known you for five years and not once have I seen you blush, get flustered or do anything that would indicate a crush on anyone. I'm starting to think you're aromatic." Yami says taking a bite of egg. I do have a type.

"Nothing wrong with that." Yami adds quickly. I wish it were that simple. I cram the rest of my eggs into my mouth.

"Lets get to school and stop speculating about my lack of love life. Plus it's getting late." I say putting my plate in the dishwasher. They look at each other, and silently agree to let the issue lie for now. I always get defensive once it starts getting to my love life. I mean it's not like I can explain why. They'd think I'm bat-shit insane. I put on my ratty canvas shoes, and Yugi hugs Grandpa good-bye.

They hold hands the entire way to school and make doe eyes at each other, even kiss a few times at crosswalks. I am going more cute than sickening. While I amuse myself by looking at the numbers above everyone's heads. Most are around 500; one or two are near the 1000 mark. It's a bit sickening on one side and, cute on the other hand. It is almost a relief to get to the classroom and see Tristan already there.

I grab the seat in front Tristan. A good friend, great gaming partner, and he likes to give me a hard time. He has 2200/2000 floating over his way too over gelled hair. It could hurt someone. I steal the seat in front of him

"Yup, they finally told. So bets on how long it will be until they go back to normal?" I sigh gesturing over to Yami and Yugi laughing at each other. He smiles at me but his eyes focus upward. Already?

"Fleas keep you up at night?" asks the delightful voice of Seto fucking Kaiba. I turn to face the person whose seat I'm sitting in right now and look him right in his icy blue beautiful eyes. His silky brown hair might be perfectly straight, his uniform tailored and pressed, but still ugly, to fit his thin but muscular frame and dark circles under his eyes covered, but his bag is shaking ever so slightly. His magnificent features hold distain for me, a small lip curl and his eyebrows slightly ruffled.

But it's an act. We both are well aware that it's an act and I could call him out right now; the 4800/3900 over his head dares me to. The rush of happiness at his guaranteed yes, the euphoria, the pleasure, I could admit I know. I could admit that I know why my rent never comes due, he pays it. I could admit why I work a posh start up, he is the major investor. But then our waltz would end and I like his calculating, protective glare, the times I find him looking at my overly-thin ass. Instead…

"Hundred dollars bills not as comfortable as you originally thought either? I would happily _fetch_ a few if you don't need them." I say to the overly tired teenager in front me.

"I didn't know that mutts _invested_ their energies in learning commands. You'll make a good family pet yet. I'll need to teach you to keep your dirty paws off the couch." He says in same scathing tone as always.

"Don't ya' think that would be _sofa_ hard to teach a mutt, I can't imagine you can afford the time." I mentally cringe at how bad that was, but the dance must continue on. I can't miss a beat now. Every morning we start the day out right with a nice bough of insults at each other. But I think that's good for the day, so I give his seat back with an over acted butler-like gesture to his seat and take a seat in my assigned chair in front of him.

Class starts and pretty soon adrenaline and caffeine starts to wear off. My elbow holds my head up to force me stay away for the droning, but eventually my eyes close.

I'm back in class, some math question on the board and the teaching looking my way.

Seto gets up to answer the question that was, by the look of annoyance of our teachers face, for me. But again Seto just meets my eye, a smirk on his face, but anger in his eyes. Our dance would stop, and we can't have that.


End file.
